The Truth
Chapter 3

Copyright© 2015 by Old Man with a Pen

I know my life was more exciting ... or boring ... than I’ve let on.

I learned to swim.

I learned to ride a bike.

Let’s deal with those two.

Swimming: Saint Johns Memorial Pool. I don’t remember who the idiot was who got drunk and drowned at the gravel pit north of town ... but his parents took his college fund and commissioned a public pool at the park. Swimming lessons were free.

This is Michigan: Michiganders have thin blood. Swimming lessons were first thing in the mornings ... five days a week. First thing in the morning the water temperature is Arctic in nature.

25 kids rousted out of bed and tossed in the three foot depth.

15 slightly older and taller survivors of the three foot end were in the four foot part.

10 or 12 sixth graders were practicing drowning in the five foot and then came the dividing rope. On the west side of the rope, the water descended rapidly to 12 feet because the pool had a three meter springboard and two one meter boards. To play on the boards a swimmer had to be able to do just that ... and prove it...

Two and a half laps across the pool ... however ... would get one moved from the three foot to the four foot ... and five laps made it to the east side of the rope.

To get to play on the west side of the rope, the requirements were tough. Two laps END to END swum in a style recognized by the Red Cross as a real swimming stroke ... that’s down and back and down and back ... not dog paddle; Australian crawl, breast stroke, back stroke ... a real swimming stroke.

But wait, there’s more ... a full length underwater ... deep end to shallow without coming up to breathe. That feat included a recognizable dive ... head down breath held arms extended ... NOT a belly flop. We who made the deep end were the class act of the pool.

Recognized swimmers were allowed the use of the diving boards ... HOWEVER ... use of the three meter board was restricted to brave hearts. Anyone who could swim could stand in line and ascend the pipe ladder, walk out to the end of the board and jump ... arms and legs askew ... generally flopping and windmilling ... and make a splash ... BUT ... you had to jump, dive or whatever ... the FIRST time you made the top of the ladder ... and you could take the brave heart test once a week. Climbing back down the ladder relegated one to the eight foot part of the west end of the pool for a week.

I learned to swim because my brother couldn’t. I learned to swim because swimming was required for sailing lessons ... and my brother couldn’t.

By the time I was in the eighth grade I could dive well enough to win the Clinton County Centennial Celebration Diving Competition ... and my brother couldn’t.

YEA ME!

Bicycling:

A TRUE ... absolutely TRUE relating of the events of my first ‘no training wheels’ adventure on a bicycle.

I am a professional pesterer. With the very best of the breed, I could beg, wheedle and charm my way into almost anything ... and do it with manners. Daddy had no time ... so...

“Charles, take David and help him get his balance.”

 
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